Bumfighting in the graveyard
with the freshest corpses—
fresh enough to remember anger,
to feign injury,
to mimic pain,
betting on winners
among these losers
who lumber and lurch
in their soil-stained finest
and throw a sort-of punch,
aim an almost-kick, at anything,
at any body, that stumbles into them,
silently striking out
at the world they left behind.